


Broh drabbles

by Rikku



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: Angst, Drabbles, Fluff, M/M, Promptfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-21
Updated: 2012-07-26
Packaged: 2017-11-10 09:58:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/465013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rikku/pseuds/Rikku
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of my tumblr promptfics! There's one with kissing and one with metalcop!Bolin and some torturefic, just figured I'd post 'em here so folk could read them if they felt so inclined.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. scars and smooches

**Author's Note:**

> 'broh, bolin noticing that iroh's injury from the mines has left a scar'

“Hey,” Bolin said, brightening, “haven’t seen you all week, what’s up? Why are you dragging me over to this dark corner mmmmph.”

It was always a little startling when Iroh actually initiated their kisses – not because he tended not to, more because Bolin still had this starched-collar ever-so-correct image of Iroh in his head, for some reason, despite the fact that the real Iroh wasn’t really like that and mm. Mmmmmmmm. Mmm.

It was always a little startling, but funnily enough, Bolin had not once felt the need to complain.

They surfaced for air a little while later, and Bolin grinned at him. “Hi,” he said, which was inane and stupid, but Iroh seemed not to mind that. Which was really nice, actually.  
Iroh smiled. “Hi yourself,” he said. “Sorry I’ve been so busy.”

“It’s fine, I know you’re all important and ... ngh, what are you – ohh, oh gosh, do that again? Uh.” Iroh was trailing kisses down his neck, and it was really really distracting, like _really_ , but he should probably say something – “Oh gosh more please,” he said, all in a rush, and Iroh chuckled at him, a soft breath of laughter brushing against his neck, making him shiver all over with pleasure and wait, that hadn’t been what he meant to say at all. He gathered together his wandering wits enough to say, “Iroh just hang on a second!” Iroh paused his ministrations to look up at him, all lidded eyes and sidelong smile and that really didn’t help any. “Is something wrong? Just – you’re, um. Awfully assertive today.” Like _wowzer_.

“Is that a problem?” Iroh said innocently.

“No! No. Just ... kinda weird, for you. I mean you’ve been kinda—”

“Reserved?” Iroh suggested, and lowered his head again, nipping at Bolin’s neck lightly, nuzzling his collarbone.

Bolin gulped. “I ... yeah ...”

“Inattentive?” Iroh said, and he started to unbutton Bolin’s jacket, long clever fingers making quick work of the buttons. “Standoffish, perhaps. One might even say I’ve been neglectful of you.”

Bolin frowned. “I wouldn’t go that—”

Iroh straightened and met his eyes seriously. “I would,” he said. “I’m sorry. You deserve my full attention.” He smiled again, a sharp smile full of promise. “And right now you have it.

“Oh good,” Bolin managed, before Iroh swooped in and kissed him again, and then it was all mouths, it was tongue and lips and teeth and warmth and want. Iroh’s body warm against his, Iroh’s hand resting lightly on his bared chest, Iroh’s mouth. Bolin could write _odes_ to Iroh’s mouth.

Bolin pulled away again after a bit, and Iroh looked at him, breathing a little ragged, flushed from kissing. “Room,” Bolin panted. “I mean, it’s nearby mmmmph—”

They made their way to his room, though it took much longer than Bolin expected because they kept on pausing to kiss against most of the walls on the way. They made it, though, and Bolin pushed Iroh through and closed the door and then there was more kissing and it was amazing – Iroh got this sort of distracted frown sometimes when they were kissing, like he wanted to make sure he did it really _well_ , and it was so utterly adorable that it turned Bolin’s heart to squishy sunlight

More kissing, Iroh’s eyes wide and dark, Bolin’s hands tangling in his hair, his hands feeling fever-hot when they brushed against bare skin

They weren’t going to – well, they, they weren’t going to, y’know, _bed_ , they’d talked about this and Bolin wasn’t ready for it yet. But they could kiss. They could kiss lots and lots and lots. They could kiss basically forever, really, Bolin was okay with that plan so long as they paused every ten years or so for noodles.

More kissing.

After a bit it occurred to Bolin that he was basically shirtless and Iroh was still fully dressed, that was unjust. He tugged Iroh closer and started fumbling with his shirt and – and Iroh jerked back, staring, looking horrified.

Bolin fought down the wave of panic that threatened to engulf him, the little voice that said _he doesn’t like you you’ve disgusted him or he’s bored of you or or or_ , ignored that voice as best he could because he knew Iroh was better than that. “Too fast?” he said instead, then frowned. “Which makes no sense because just for the record, you started it.”

“I know I started it,” Iroh snapped, then rubbed the back of his head, looking sheepish. And all rumpled and dishevelled from the kissing, mmmph, why did he need an explanation, couldn’t they just get back to the kissing now please – no. Bad Bolin. “Sorry. That was a little – abrupt, sorry.” His mouth made a thin line. “Maybe we should stop now.”

“No,” Bolin said, so quickly that Iroh blinked. “I mean, um – I’d. Rather not. If that’s okay.”

Iroh looked away. “Fine. Just – I’d like to stay fully-clothed, please.”

Bolin nodded cautiously. “Sure, okay, we can do that,” he said. “Can I ask why?”

“Of course you can.” Iroh sighed. “This is why I haven’t been more eager about this kind of thing, I ...” He frowned. “It’s silly, really. Vain.”

“You’re not vain,” Bolin reassured him. (Even though it was a total lie. Iroh spent _ages_ in front of the mirror, every single day. Bolin found it kinda sweet though, so.) “Wait – wait. Are you saying you’re selfconscious?” He laughed, even though he probably shouldn’t’ve. It was just too hilarious not to. “ _You_? How does that even work? I mean, you’re perfect, you’re amazing, what do you have to be self-conscious of?”

Iroh grinned a bit at the praise, but it faded far too quickly. He sighed again. Then took off his outer jacket and rolled up his sleeve. “See?” he said, looking away.  
Bolin winced at the scar, the red bumpy skin, inflamed-looking even now – was this from the injury he’d had way back when they first met? But, but that was – “May I?” he said cautiously, and Iroh nodded. Bolin reached out, traced the injured skin with his fingers, ran his thumb over it, comparing the texture of it and the unburned flesh around it. “Why didn’t you get it healed?”

Iroh looked guilty. “I was busy,” he said.

Bolin scowled. “What,” he said, and Iroh had the decency to look embarrassed. “ _What_. What kind of excuse is that? That’s a horrible excuse!”

“It’s a reason,” Iroh said curtly. “Not an excuse.” He paused. “You – you mind it?”

“Of course I ...” Iroh was looking at the ground, his mouth twisted oddly, brows drawn. Wait. “I mind that you didn’t get it healed, not the scar _itself_ , idiot,” and to prove his point he kissed the scar gently, smiled up at Iroh. “I like all of you.” Iroh looked relieved, and Bolin couldn’t help a grin. “Seriously. Seriously? This is what was bothering you? You thought I’d mind one measly scar?”

Iroh looked guilty.

“ _Iroh_ ,” Bolin snapped.

“It’s far from my only scar,” Iroh said. “I have quite the collection, actually. On occasion I’m, ah ... less than prudent when I’m battling.” He paused. “Well, normally people phrase it more along the lines of ‘completely insane’, but that’s a matter of semantics. In any case. I get injured, and then other things happen, and it’s never severe enough for healing, or it’s severe enough that healing still leaves a scar, and ... yes.” He frowned at the air, a few inches to the right of Bolin’s face, refusing to meet his eyes. Which was _really annoying_. Geeze, Iroh. “You’re not saying anything,” Iroh said, and he’d gotten all his old formality back, the awkwardness he’d had for their first few conversations. “This – I warned you from the start, you know. I’m very far from unmarred. I told you to get out while you still—”

“You’re perfect,” Bolin interrupted, and Iroh blinked at him. “You’re clever and brave and you take utterly _stupid_ risks and you’re perfect, all the same. I like your scars. I like all of you.” Iroh’s eyes softened, and he smiled. Bolin took the opportunity to slap the back of his head, a little harder than he’d meant to, and Iroh scowled.

“ _Ow_ ,” he said, petulant. That was more like it.

“Promise you’ll be more careful next time,” Bolin snapped. “Okay? Okay. Good.” He paused. “... Uh, sorry."

Iroh chuckled. “I’ve done far worse to you when we’re sparring, it’s fine,” he said, and paused. His hand had been hovering self-consciously over the scar; he frowned at it, let it drop. “You really don’t—”  
“You’re perfect, I’m pretty great too, we should celebrate that by _kissing more please_ ," Bolin said, and Iroh gave a mocking little courtly bow and complied.


	2. torturefic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Oh oh oh oh jfkljsdafkljadsklj um oh no oh no think max think….wounded!Bolin getting rescued by Iroh from the battlefield!??!!? : D and Iroh keeps telling him how much he loves Bo to stop him from losing conciousness : D?!'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Torturefic! Warning for dark themes, violence, other such things.

There were rules about this sort of thing: don’t show emotion, don’t show weakness but certainly don’t show strength. Be quiet and submissive. Do as you’re told. Let them see that they’ve hurt you, because if you don’t they won’t stop until you do. There were rules, and they were there for a reason, so Iroh followed them however much it stung, because he was no use to his soldiers dead.

And then they shoved Bolin into his cell, beaten and bloody, and – _show no emotion_ , but it was too late, he’d already gone to him. He stopped himself short a step away, clasped his hands behind his back so as not to touch.

Why Bolin?

They’d kept him alone a whole day and night, by his reckoning, away from the support being near the people would give him, kept him isolated so he’d be weak, so why give him company in this little cell, why now, why _Bolin_ \- it meant they knew, or, no, they suspected. Had heard the rumours, but didn’t know if there was truth in them. They were waiting for Iroh to give them proof.

Iroh stood straight as steel, and did nothing. But. Wait. Bolin hadn’t said anything yet, not a word, that was ... that was _wrong_ , that meant –

Iroh closed the distance between them even before he saw that Bolin had started to weep, quiet and helpless, and to hell with the rules, this was _Bolin_. Iroh wrapped his arms around him, held him tight.

Bolin tried to tug away, though, shaking his head, murmuring something frantically in a harsh sob of a voice that was painfully far from his usual one. Iroh let him go, stepping away, holding his arms out palms-up to show he meant no harm.

“It’s me,” he said, gently, trying not to let any fury into his voice. “It’s Iroh. I won’t hurt you.”

“I know ‘s you,” Bolin muttered, still looking down.

“Can I see your face?” Iroh asked softly, and when Bolin winced and shook his head, “Please. I need to see how much they’ve hurt you. A general needs as much information as he can find. You know that.”

Bolin shook his head, fast and jerky. He was shivering. And then he looked up, and Iroh caught his breath. Blood on his face; cut on his forehead, another on his cheek, blood dribbling from his mouth too, bruises all over. No burns, but probably only because there hadn’t been any space left for them amidst that mess. And that was just his _face_.

“Hold up your arms—” Iroh said, meaning to check for broken ribs, and Bolin blurted, “I’m sorry.”

Iroh stared at him.

“What’re you sorry for, Bolin?” he prompted gently, when Bolin didn’t say anything more.

Bolin bit his lip. “I,” he said, and he started crying again, ugly and harsh. “I let you down, I told them _everything_ Iroh I’m so so _sorry_ , I, you,” and Iroh held out his arms open again in invitation, then, when Bolin didn’t move, wrapped his arms around him, cautious and gentle. Bolin just let himself be held for a second, slack, but then he seized Iroh painfully tight, squeezed them together. Buried his face in the crook of Iroh’s neck and shoulder as though he couldn’t bear to face him, the cell, the world.

Iroh gritted his teeth. Do as you’re told, he reminded himself. Don’t show strength. Don’t fight back.

Bolin’s grip weakened, leaving Iroh supporting most of his weight. _Probable concussion_ , a panicked voice rattled in the back of his mind, _impaired balance, possible other damage, keep him awake keep him awake keep him awake_ , and he dropped to his knees so they were both sitting down. He leaned them against the wall, a little.

“Bolin,” he said. “You did nothing wrong.”

Bolin blinked at him. His pupils were dilated, his gaze blank. “Letyoudown,” he muttered, swaying where he sat, and Iroh pulled him closer.

“Hush,” he said, then backtracked. “Wait, no, keep talking, just – hush with _that_ , you did nothing wrong, alright? These are dangerous men, and they hurt you, and if you hadn’t told them whatever it was they wanted to know they would’ve hurt you until you did—” Which was what had happened, most likely, judging by the state of him. Iroh fought to contain his temper. It wasn’t helpful right now. Bolin needed him calm.

Bolin made a clear effort to focus on him, frowning. “Palace,” he said slowly, then squeezed his eyes shut, opened them again. “I – they know about, blueprints, they. Weaknesses. Soso sorry ...” 

Iroh held him closer, grabbed one of his hands and gripped it tight. Kissed his grimy bloody face, because their attackers had already seen more than enough to leap to conclusions, probably. “Ssh, love,” he said, mind racing, “it’ll be fine,” and it wouldn’t, of course, that was crucial information and Bolin happened to know rather more than he really ought to.

And wasn’t that the most horrible part of all this; that he’d introduced his lover to his family and they’d approved, almost _entirely_ , even though it was untraditional they were _fine_ and the worry that had weighed heavy on his heart for entirely too many months had finally lifted and then _this_. Captured by Fire Nation terrorists – by his own _people_ , held captive like this in his own _country_ , it made rage boil in his blood like fire.

He held it back. Anger wasn’t useful, not yet.

“Bolin,” he said. “Stay with me.”

“Can’t,” Bolin mumbled, sagging forward into him, “you’ll hate me now.”

“Not in a thousand years.” He tilted Bolin’s chin up, careful of his injuries, and met his eyes and smiled a little. “Love you.”

Bolin stared at him. Iroh said that rarely enough for it to have weight, and apparently it was enough to give Bolin pause even in his pain-addled state. (Drugged too, most likely. His own _people_. How could they? How. Could. They. _Dare_.)

It made Bolin pay attention, so Iroh said it again. “I love you,” he said. “I love you I love you I love you. Stay with me, sweetheart, we can do this together.” He held him closer, kissed his forehead. “I love you. Don’t fret about any of this, Bo, alright? I’ll take care of it.”

“So sorry,” Bolin murmured, but he was smiling back, hesitantly. It split his bruised lip, and Iroh gritted his teeth. How dare they. Where did they find the _nerve_.

Show no emotion do as you’re told. But rules and common sense and being a good calm commander had stopped the moment they’d hurt Bolin. No rules to hold himself in check.

No rules to keep them safe from him. Nothing in the world could do that, not now. 

“I love you,” Iroh said again, “shh, it’s alright. They’ve made a bad mistake, love. They should never have hurt you.”

“To hurt you mainly,” Bolin told him, groggy, “theywere talkin’, some stuff about how we’re foul and such for, y’know—” He waved an arm. “Us. Being.”

“I thought as much. They’re some odd cult, from what I could tell; they want to go back to the old ways. As in, conquest. Don’t mind them.”

“Iroh?” Bolin slurred. “You’re grinnin’ weird, why.”

If these people cared so much about the old ways – well, then. He had a treat in store for them. There were very few people in this civilised day and age who got to know what it felt like to face an angered fire prince and live to tell the tale.

Not that they _would_ , of course.

“I love you, stay with me,” he murmured to Bolin there in the cold and the dark, holding him close, keeping him awake, waiting. “I’ll take care of it.”

Anger wasn’t useful. Not yet.


	3. torturefic, cont.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iroh being scary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still warning for violence, mentioned torture, death, dark things. Also sudden tense-switching. xD It's not strictly speaking a continuation of the last story, but it works well that way, so.

Morning comes, eventually, even there in the dim-and-dark. Iroh could tell it by the shape of the sounds they heard, the increase of footsteps. Somewhere out there it was morning.

“Bolin,” Iroh says gently, pulling them apart. “Can you stay awake on your own now?”

Bolin sags back in close to him, and Iroh is alarmed for a moment until he realises that, no, it’s not Bolin collapsing (something he’d done frequently, that long night, as Iroh held him too tightly and told whatever stories came to mind to keep the sleep at bay), it’s just him wanting to be near. That, Iroh can understand. “Can’t help you,” he mumbles into Iroh’s shirt, twisting a handful of the fabric in his fist. “Can’t get us out. Even though it’s earthly things I can’t, can’t won’t can’t.”

Iroh sighs, disattaches himself. “Sweetheart,” he says.

Bolin blinks at him, bleary. “Can’t can’t can’t,” he says, then rocks back and says it again, singsong: “Can’t can’t can’t. Can’t ever help you. Can’t can’t can’t. Dark dark dark. Nevernevernever ever get us out. Can’t can’t can’t. Dark dark dark.”

Iroh wants to slap him, snap him _out_ of it, it is heartbreaking and somehow humiliating to see his Bolin grinning like that, so vacant and scared. He doesn’t, though, even as unease prickles at his spine because it has been _hours_ now and Bolin has shown no signs of getting better and they’d hurt him, they’d _hurt him_ , they had somehow had the barefaced _nerve_ and they would pay they would pay they would pay, they would pay a thousand times over.

Iroh stands. “Stay awake,” he tells Bolin, says it in his sternest and most commanding voice as if that’ll help it stick; “I’ll be back for you.” Always and forever.

Bolin grins up at him. Blood in his mouth and blood on his forehead and bruises puffing his eyes, and still he _grins_. “Never never never,” he recites, like a child at lessons, “can’t won’t ever so dark, never, never, never ...”

Maybe it’ll help him, to have a mantra to cling to. Maybe it’s healthy. 

Sure, and maybe that gap isn’t a hole where a tooth should be, and maybe the terrorists mean no one any harm.

Iroh eyes the barred door, and kicks it down. Walks through and out, curling his fingers, fire a steady burn in his veins – but no, look, rock walls and rough beams propping them up, this place they’re being held in is a mine. Fire’s bad in mines, sometimes, unpredictable. Lightning then.

Lightning for the first, and he falls clutching his heart, dead before he can make a sound. (Stretch out your arms, little soldier boy, breathe, you are ice, you are blade-of-a-knife balanced.) The second guard yells as he sees Iroh but Iroh’s quick, points his fingers and lightning arcs bitterly blue and the man drops like dead weight and there’s the tunnel stretching out before him, up, dusty sunlight way up ahead and Iroh slides into a run because he can hear voices now. No more than twenty people involved, he calculates, distantly; no less than eight, and then there, there’s a straight-up shaft for fresh air above him and for a second he’s in sunlight. The tunnel bells out into a room, where they’re gathered – Fire Nation people, his own people, he pauses for a moment. Calmness. Control. There are rules.

One of them is telling a tale, laughing, holding out his hands for the others to admire: there is blood on his knuckles, hours old.

(You are calm you are ice you are _balance_ you are -) he’s _fuming_ , he’s burning alive with the rage of it, he reaches in the hollow inside of him for lightning and out comes fire stinking of sulphur, fire burning too hot too fierce, an explosion of it, knocking him back. (Bad in mines, sometimes, unpredictable. Never ever ever get us out - ) and it’s burning and he doesn’t think to run or cover his mouth, he breathes in a mouthful of explosion-smoke and chokes on it. And meanwhile down goes the man with blood on his knuckles in a roar of fire, and then he doesn’t have knuckles any more, he has charred claws where his hands should be, a melting face that slips and chars and takes far too long to stop screaming.

The smoke sinks heavy to the ground, Iroh can see well enough now. Staggers to his feet, somehow. Less than twenty, more than eight. He thinks of Bolin whimpering I’m sorry, over and over and over again, that brilliant kind boy hurt to the breaking point. They will pay.

Flesh solid beneath his knuckles, bones breaking beneath his kicks, flash out an arc of fire and down go two and there’s others in their place already. There is no dance to this. Just too much darkness and fire at his fingertips and a job to do, work to do, make them pay, make them pay, make them pay and it never ever stops.

Someone tugs at him and he whirls, raises a hand, stills himself. It’s Bolin.

“Less than twenty, more than eight,” Iroh tells him, urgently, “strategically I am at a disadvantage.”

Bolin quirks a crooked smile at him, or tries to, and Iroh _thinks_ that that horrible dazed blankness is gone from his eyes, but it’s hard to tell, it’s so hard to tell, Bolin looks so very tired and Iroh’s vision is black at the edges and he isn’t at all sure he can trust anything his mind is telling him right now. “They’re—” Bolin starts, and then he stops, chokes a little on whatever it is he was going to say. “It’s alright. You ... you took care of it.”

Iroh looks around at the crowded room. More than eight and less than twenty and not a one of them still breathing. “Oh,” he says, swallows back the sickening realisation of that, tries not to sway as the blackness threatens to engulf him. He, he needs to be strong and tall and brave enough for both of them, he needs to show none of the horror he’s feeling because right now Bolin needs him, needs him there, Bolin _needs_ him –

“I’ve got you,” Bolin says, steadier than ceiling beams, and leads him out into the sunlight. 

And then without a word Bolin brings it down, the whole place; stands out in the open air and moves and stomps and it's closed up, the mines are, no sign of them left, just smooth earth that shows not a trace of anything that had happened there. Iroh leans into him and cries, then, stands there scorched and empty and weeps like a child without quite knowing why.


	4. Tough as Nails

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'You don’t have to wait for someone to request it, you know. But for the record, I hereby request it.'
> 
> 'If you are still accepting prompts then may I ask for some Broh with baddass Metalcop Bolin saving Iroh from a risky situation and both kicking ass afterwards :D'
> 
> 'prompt eyepatch metalcop bolin, trying to hit on iroh while he's drunk. And iroh thinking it's cute and wants to kiss those pouty lips that got red from drinking lol fjadslfjkasdl'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Metalcop!Bolin. He has an eyepatch and everything.

Iroh was a busy man, so naturally, the next time he managed to visit Republic City was not only several years later, it was while it was under attack by terrifying spirits.

“What is that thing?” he snapped at his men, but no one could muster more than a helpless shrug, and meanwhile the creature was approaching them, towering over the ship even from where it stood on the shore; it tilted its bird-head to look at them, and Iroh winced at the sight of that huge, mad eye. It was hard to tell what the spirit had been, originally, before it had gone all massive at whatever had enraged it; now it was just a mass of feather and greyness and beak. “Right,” he said, and held out his hands, building up fire in his fingertips. But before he could move someone leapt out of a tall building near where the huge mutant bird-thing was standing, barrelled toward it as though in some mad kamikaze attack; before he hit, though, he stretched out a hand and a cord shot out, tethering him to another building, and he must’ve pulled on the cord, because he changed direction bewilderingly fast, snapping away just in time to avoid a swipe of the bird-thing’s meaty paw. It lashed its tail at him, a huge roiling naked thing like a massive serpent, but he just flung himself up onto a roof. Stood strong there, pulled back his cords, sent out another; this one wrapped right around the bird, tethering it loosely. Iroh squinted, trying to see it properly. Who _was_ the metalbender? Lin Beifong, probably, she was the most – well, the metalbender was shooting towards the ship now, lashing one end of their cord to one of the ship’s poles and reeling themselves in a reckless arc that dropped them whooping to the deck. So that answered his question.

The metalbender staggered a little as he landed, then straightened, hands on hips, grinning at Iroh. He was a stocky man, strong-built and fearsome, with curly dark hair and battered armour and an eyepatch. Iroh found himself in the slightly novel situation of being _intimidated_.

“Hey no, stop that!” the man called, laughing, and Iroh looked at him in confusion for a moment before he realised that he was still absentmindedly firebending in anticipation of launching himself into flight – into a battle that didn’t need him; the bird thing was flexing its wings, a little, but the cord looked like it’d hold, and on second inspection the spirit didn’t look like it was really inclined to go on a rampaging spree anyway. Iroh extinguished his flames and bowed.

“Nicely done, sir,” he said politely.

“Good to see you too, _commander_ ,” the man said fondly, and Iroh frowned, because that was a little more familiar than he was really comfortable with.  
“Steady now—” he said, his objection turning into a startled squawk as the man seized him and lifted him into a bear hug, settling him down with a solid slap to the back. “Cease,” he said, cold and calm and icy, and the grin on the man’s face faded. He took a step back, looking ... hurt? Why would he –

And _then_ Iroh recognised him, finally, he’d changed a lot but in some ways he’d stayed exactly the same. Even if one of them was missing now, those open green eyes were impossible to forget. 

“Bolin?” said Iroh, blankly.

“Sorry, sir,” the metalbender said, a little jerkily. He was _pouting_ and it was ridiculous, this man who’d just pulled off an impossible stunt like that pouting like a child. “Didn’t mean to be so, uh, well I mean I guess I only met you for a couple of—”

“ _Bolin_ ,” Iroh said, exasperated, and he seized the man’s hand, shook it warmly. “I didn’t recognise you, that’s all. You’ve, ah ...” He eyed him. “Certainly grown. Grown up, I suppose.”

Bolin beamed, and the once-childish grin was somehow rakish on that square unshaven face. Which was ... startling. Certainly not _charming_ , that’d be ridiculous, this was Bolin, silly foolish Bolin, the very last thing he was was dashing. “I can bend metal now!” he said proudly.

Iroh looked to shore, where the massive bird thing was now pecking inquisitively at the streets, its wings still firmly bound back. “Well, plainly,” he said

Bolin followed his glance. “Oh, oops,” he said, and threw Iroh a salute, and then he was off again, producing his cords whip-fast and drawing himself to shore blurringly fast. Iroh snatched his spyglass out eagerly to see it better; Bolin just ... stood looking at the bird thing for a second, as though considering it, and then he launched himself right at it. Iroh whistled at the boldness of the move, watching Bolin with professional curiosity as he impacted solidly at the bird-thing’s breastbone in a soft plume of feathers. Bolin dropped a metre or two, found a grip, clung to the creature. Iroh watched raptly, wondering what his plan of attack was.

... Bolin’s plan of attack seemed to be hugging.

He wrapped his arms around the bird-thing’s neck, not that he could reach far, and sort of petted it comfortingly, and the bird-thing dropped its head and nuzzled at him, and even from this far away Iroh could hear the sound it made, a colossal affectionate coo.

Then it shrank rapidly, disappearing from view, and Iroh lowered his spyglass. “Well, take us into port, I suppose,” he said, a little at a loss. 

When he reached Bolin the man was sitting on the ground, clicking fondly at the creature, which now looked like a perfectly ordinary ratpigeon. It nudged its head against his hand, and he chuckled and dutifully petted it.

“City spirit,” he explained when he saw Iroh. “It’s okay, this happens sometimes. People do stupid stuff like burn down buildings or crash cars or litter ...” He shrugged. “It sucks. They’re pretty easy to calm down, though!”

“I wouldn’t’ve liked to try it,” Iroh said.

“Well,” Bolin said, proudly. “I have a _natural’s touch_.” He chucked the ratpigeon under the chin, and it coo-squeaked at him fondly and then faded away. He stood. 

“I would’ve just killed it,” Iroh said, eyeing the space the spirit had left. “Simpler. Saves time.”

Bolin gave an exaggerated wince and shook his head. “Killing the spirits kills the city!” he said earnestly, “or something. I don’t profess to understand it, I just catch things.” He grinned, hopeful. “Wanna get a drink?”

Iroh shook his head, regretting it a little. He would’ve rather liked to hear the stories behind Bolin’s new scars. But there were things that were more important than him at stake here. “I don’t have time,” he said. “The Omashu riots, and there’s unrest brewing in Capital City too – I have information Korra and the Council need,” and Bolin nodded curtly.

“I’ll get you there quickly,” he said, abruptly all business, and the next several days were a blur of politics and planning and pacing until past well midnight. Civil war wasn’t anywhere near as dramatic as the other kind, but it was far harder to stop, even if you saw all the signs, even if you had a team of dedicated competent people working themselves to the bone trying to stop it. There were speeches and marches and maddening delays, but in the end they held it off. Until some other, later day; but hopefully by then, they’d be prepared to handle the consequences.

And then there was court business that needed his attention at Capital City, and he was off again. He’d learned his lesson, though – places _changed_ , if you stayed away long enough, and if you stayed away too long they might just change into somewhere you didn’t fit any more. The elegant Miss Sato was a councilmember now, too busy to bother with makeup to hide the shadows beneath her eyes, but still dressed immaculately, perfectly, her hair a softly-scented flow of darkness down her back. A non-bender on the _council_ ; the city was changing, sure enough. Asami was a councilmember and Mako was ... actually, he had no idea, but it seemed sort of shady, and Korra was bone-tired but somehow more whole than she’d been the last time he’d seen her; she’d been empty, then, haunted by the ghost of her departed bending, and now she grinned more rarely but when she did there was realness there beneath the bravado. And Bolin.

Bolin was ... certainly something.

Places changed, and people changed with them. So he was back again, sooner enough, no more than a few months later, so he could track the growth of the airbender children, so the Avatar smiled at him like he was a friend not a stranger, so he could learn the shape and sounds of the city his grandfather had helped to build. Also so he could go out drinking with Bolin.

Well, Bolin drank, and Iroh sat there feeling extremely uncomfortable, because this – really wasn’t the kind of joint he would’ve chosen, if it had been up to him. They were serving gruel! Who served _gruel_? And more to the point, they were alone here. Well, not alone, of course not alone, the dive was fairly full – but not with anyone Iroh knew, none of the rest of Korra’s gang or any of his soldiers. Just. Him and Bolin in a room full of nobody that knew them. It made him nervous.

Well. Not ... nervous, exactly. He couldn’t quite put a name to how he felt, actually; an oddly languid unease, strange but pleasant, heat pooling in his belly and making his face flush red. It had something to do with that grin of Bolin’s, he knew that much.

“Hey,” Bolin said suddenly, and Iroh shook his head a little and focused on him. He’d been staring at Bolin’s chest, for some reason. 

“What? I mean, eyepatch.” Wait, that hadn’t made any sense. “I mean. What?”

“We should dance,” Bolin said, standing up with a bit of a stagger. His cheeks were red with drink, his lips wet with it. He’d had too much, probably. “We should _dance_ ,” Bolin said again, more insistently, and tugged him up.

“I really don’t think—” Iroh began, and stopped short, because Bolin had an arm around his waist, his face right up close to Iroh’s, all of him very warm and real and solid.

“Don’t think what?” Bolin asked, squinting at him. His breath stank of alcohol, too. He’d definitely had too much. Iroh shivered.

He had a sudden suspicion about what, exactly, that nervous-excited feeling was.

“There’s – not any music,” Iroh said, for lack of anything else to say, and Bolin nodded.

“Right you are,” he said, and declared it to the room at large. “The man is _right_!” He clapped Iroh on the shoulder in a congratulatory sort of way, and Iroh, unprepared, staggered a little. When had Bolin gotten so _strong_ , strong enough to manhandle him like that and – ah. That. That was – not the best line of thoughts to be having, all things considered.

“Thank you?” Iroh said.

“We can’t dance,” Bolin agreed, and Iroh tried to ignore the disappointment he felt. Why would he even be disappointed. That was stupid. “We _cannot dance_ ,” Bolin repeated, and tugged him closer instead. “We shall have,” he said, very seriously, “to make out instead. It is for the good of us all.”

Iroh tried to form coherent thoughts. “What? That doesn’t—”

He didn’t get any further because Bolin was kissing him, and that – okay. That was. Yes.

They broke apart a few seconds later to jeers and catcalls, and Iroh blushed crimson. Bolin seemed completely unfazed, bowing and grinning at the applause. Then again, he was extremely drunk.

... He was _drunk_.

Iroh cleared his throat, and Bolin turned to look at him with a dazed sort of grin. “This is a bad idea,” Iroh said.

“No, what,” Bolin said, “it’s genius, I’m genius. Let’s be geniuses together. Geniuses that kiss!” He swayed closer.

Iroh tried to push him back, but it’d be unkind to use force, he reasoned, it’s not like Bolin was really aware of how inappropriate he was being. So somehow the hand he was trying to push Bolin away with just ... rested on his chest, lightly. Iroh could feel the pound of his heart.

Bolin tilted his head curiously. “C’mon,” he said, and puckered his lips, which ... made him a lot less attractive, actually, thank the spirits.

Iroh cleared his throat. “I just,” he said. “I just think we should – think about this. I mean.”

“Oh, c’mon, isn’t this what you wanted?”

“ _No_ ,” Iroh said, trying to convince himself more than actually believing it, but Bolin stopped at once and took a step or two away.

“No?” he said, looking a lot more sober. “No. Okay.” He scratched the back of his head. “I – wow. Sorry. I thought.” He looked at the ground. “I don’t know what I thought. There’s no excuse. I behaved abominably and I—”

“Wait,” Iroh said, “that – by that no I meant more of a ... yes-ish sort of answer.”

Bolin’s head snapped up, and he grinned. Still paused, though. “If you’re sure?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Iroh found himself saying, impatient, and how ridiculous was it that Bolin was the one taking this slowly out of concern for him, honestly, he would never have predicted that when they first met, not from this boy. 

But Bolin wasn’t a boy any more.

“Excellent,” Bolin breathed, and kissed him again, full in view of everyone there, and Iroh gathered his courage and kissed him back.

Things escalated from there, all a blur of warmth and desire and a slight edge of panic he couldn’t quite fight and didn’t quite want to. They were outside now, and it was raining, and Bolin was kissing him with single-minded dedication, and it was paying off, _spirits_ , the man could do things with his tongue that shouldn’t even be legal. The _warmth_ of him, the sheer casual strength, even the scratch of his stubble against Iroh’s chin, everything was –

“I’ve wanted you since the first time I saw you,” Bolin said, conversational. “Looked at you through a spyglass, and you were standing there all stern and imperious and I _wanted_.”

“Oh?” Iroh said, and swallowed, because Bolin’s hands had slipped underneath his damp shirt, brushing against bare skin. He shivered again.

“ _Oh_ yes,” Bolin assured him, and went back to the kissing, slick and open-mouthed and hot, tongues sliding. He pressed his thigh between Iroh’s legs and Iroh bucked, not even meaning to, it just happened. He couldn’t have helped it if he wanted to. He ground into him, writhing helpless, making a sound not unlike a whimper.

Bolin paused, damn him.

“Wait,” he said.

“Must we?” Iroh said, ashamed of how hoarse his voice came out. Bolin frowned as if in thought, then reached down, palming him. Iroh yelped, flinching back out of reflex. Then blushed furiously.

“Waaait,” Bolin said again, this time sounding almost in awe. “You’ve never ...?”

A bit vague, but there was only really one question that could be. Iroh looked aside and nodded once, quickly. The cold rain felt good on his overheated skin.

“What,” Bolin said, sounding so incredulous that Iroh hunched a little, “ _how_ ,” and Iroh glared at him.

“I’m a busy man,” he snapped. “We don’t all have time for – for frivolities, some of us—”

“So very not what I meant.” Bolin kissed him again, curled his hand in Iroh’s hair, pulled back to chuckle softly. “The entire world is _blind_.”

“What?”

“Unbelievable,” Bolin breathed, kissing him again, then kissing his chin, his forehead, nipping at his jaw so Iroh squeaked. “Seriously. Seriously? How can people even restrain themselves from jumping you, I mean _really_!”

Iroh shook his head. It was very hard to form proper thoughts when Bolin was ... doing what he was doing, but he did his best. “Don’t exaggerate,” he said, a little harsher than he was meaning to. “I haven’t exactly been drowning in suitors. You’re very kind, but really, I’m not so – _ahh_ , that—”

Bolin pulled back to smile at him, soft and crooked. “The _entire world_ is blind.” Kissed him again. “And they don’t know what they’re missing.”

Iroh was blushing more. He could just _feel_ it. But with Bolin smiling at him like that he couldn’t seem to mind, quite.

“However,” Bolin said, pulling away from him with a determined yet vaguely anguished look. “I’m not gonna – I mean, dude, it’s your first time, I’m not gonna do this _drunk_. That’d be a criminal waste. You deserve better.” He shook his head, biting his lip. “We can’t do this tonight.”

Iroh’s jaw dropped. “What? No. You can’t – that’s _cruel_ , you’re not a cruel man, don’t do that to me,” he pleaded, and Bolin just looked immensely amused. “I – okay. Okay, how about I get you home, and you sleep this off, and then tomorrow when you’re fully sober and we’re all inarguably in our right minds we can. Try this again?”

Bolin leaned in close to him, rubbed their faces together. “I,” he purred, “am _all_ up for that, soldier boy.”

“I was wrong, you’re definitely cruel,” Iroh said, and Bolin laughed.

They went home, though Bolin slowed their progress considerably by pausing to kiss Iroh every now and again, sometimes sloppy, sometimes sweet. “All part of your education,” he explained seriously, and Iroh scowled at him.

The next morning he woke slowly, more than a little surprised to find himself on a couch with a lapful of softly snoring earthbender. Far from displeased, though. Even if Bolin was drooling onto his shirt.

At least he was _wearing_ a shirt. That was definitely something. Particularly considering – oh, spirits, was that people he heard –

Worse than people, it was _Mako_ , talking over his shoulder to Korra as he entered the room. “—seem to be in shambles, but the other triads are taking their place,” he was saying, and then he finally looked at them. He stopped. He stared.

“... Please let’s all pretend this didn’t happen,” he said blankly, after a few seconds of shocked staring at the two of them there, cuddled up all cosy.

Bolin shifted and made a muffled waking-up sort of noise of complaint. Iroh carded his fingers through his hair to calm him. “Actually,” he said, a little apologetically, fully aware of the awkwardness of the situation. “I’d rather not? I mean, um, I quite enjoy—”

“Leaving now,” Mako said, in that same monotone, and he just reeled and exited. Iroh winced a bit, guilty.

“’ello,” Bolin mumbled, lifting his head sleepily to give him a startlingly brilliant smile. “ _Iroh_!” he said delightedly, as though surprised to find him there.

“Bolin,” Iroh said, smiling.

Bolin snuggled against him. “Y’know,” he said coyly. “I’m sober now.”

And Iroh couldn’t think of any good response to that but to kiss him. Fortunately, Bolin didn’t seem to mind.


	5. sparring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'How about one where Bolin & Iroh are sparring and Bolin accidentally knocks Iroh out or gives him a bloody nose or some such?'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Iroh is an awkward jerk in this one, there is shirtlessness, all in all it is pretty great

General Iroh didn’t look happy at the news. “Leaving _tomorrow_?” he said. “I understand that she wants to be home where she feels safe, but the city needs its Avatar …” He sighed. “I wish I could do more to help. Will you tell her—”

“Yeah, I’ll pass along your best wishes,” Bolin said. “She just – she kinda needs to be around people she trusts, right now, and I mean, well, not to be rude but.”

“She barely even knows me. I know that.” He frowned. “I just feel …” he said, and then glanced at Bolin and stopped. Probably remembering that they didn’t know each other very well, either, that Bolin wasn’t exactly the best person to go spilling his soul to.

“Useless?” Bolin suggested, cheerfully, and General Iroh looked a little taken aback. Bolin chuckled. “Tell me about it. Normally what I do is go beat stuff up until I—”

He stopped talking and stared at General Iroh, for some reason suddenly remembering that he had punched a bomb. General Iroh stared back. 

“Can we maybe—”

“ _Yes_.”

Half an hour later they were in the gym’s sparring ring. Everything was a bit dusty and disused, no one had been here since pro-bending had gone boom, but it was still familiar and pleasant, and Bolin bounced on the back of his heels excitedly as he looked around, because somehow he’d actually missed this place.

“We should do this without bending,” said Iroh, who was looking a lot more cheerful now that he actually had something to _do_ , even if it wasn’t a useful thing. He must be the kind of guy that always had to be moving, solving whatever problems he saw, roaming around being all heroic. Bolin had once spent three hours counting every one of Pabu’s hairs, just because he couldn’t quite be bothered moving. They were radically different people. “Hand to hand! Out of solidarity,” Iroh explained, when Bolin frowned quizzically. “Bending isn’t everything, you know.”

“Nah, that’s good, I don’t have Korra to heal me if I get any burns,” Bolin said cheerfully, though he was a little disappointed. He’d gotten most of his early combat practice sparring with Mako. He was _good _at fighting firebenders.__

Iroh winced. “That’s exactly the kind of thing I’m talking about,” he said, then heaved a sigh. Bolin knew that kind of sigh; it was the how-are-you-so-stupid sigh, and he heard it a lot.

Bolin wrapped cloth around his knuckles; flexed his hands. Grinned. He was gonna enjoy this.

“You look confident,” Iroh remarked, shrugging off his shirt. When Bolin did the same, his eyes widened. “… For good reason, I suppose. _How_ did you manage to get that level of definition on a peasant diet?”

Wow, that was mean. Bolin laughed. “Haha, yeah – I didn’t figure out I was a bender for ages, actually, I had to be good at just, y’know, _fighting_ , so when I did find out I kinda just … kept in the habit! And that’s why I’m all gorgeous and strong. Now c’mon, are we gonna fight or not!”

“It’s not _fighting_ ,” the general said, stiffly, “it’s a tactically sound exercise that works to our mutual benefit,” and Bolin rolled his eyes. It turned out Iroh was a lot less interesting when they weren’t fighting evil Equalists. Go figure.

“Yeah, yeah, sure,” he said, settling into fight-ready posture, side-facing and light-footed.

“You may be strong,” Iroh said, doing the same, “but I think this’ll be a decent challenge, all the same. I’m quick.” He grinned. “Good luck pinning me down.”

And that grin, with him standing there all shirtless and cocky and saying something like _that_ , and wow, okay, maybe Bolin’s body didn’t agree with his mind about how insufferable this guy was, judging by how dry his mouth went. “Uh?” he said, and then Iroh was throwing the first punch and fortunately he didn’t have to think any more.

Iroh’s fighting style was unfamiliar, sharp jabs and smooth movements – hints of the evasive fighting style airbenders used, too, redirection, and that was interesting. Bolin only took a couple hits, nowhere near enough to phase him, and the second time he let it happen so he could suckerpunch Iroh in the gut while Iroh was distracted hitting him, but Iroh spun away, lashed out another quick hit which Bolin ducked quick and easy and this _was_ fun, it really was, the thoughtless rhythm and weave of it. Mako had been too busy for sparring lately.

“Break,” Iroh panted after ten minutes, and Bolin nodded and leaned thankfully against the ropes.

“So, hey,” he said casually, eyeing Iroh while the general sipped at water. He was all sharp lines and symmetry, and sweaty, right now, which. Wow. “You wanna get dinner tonight?”

Iroh wiped his mouth. “Certainly,” he said. “I’d welcome the chance to further my acquaintance with you and your brother.”

Bolin rolled his eyes. Stupid stuffy Fire Nation men. “No, I mean – you and me. No Mako.”

Iroh straightened, looking alarmed. “Is Mako unwell?” he said. “I know he’s very important to Avatar Korra, that’d be horrendously poor timing—”

Stupid, _stupid_ man. “Mako’s fine,” Bolin said. 

Iroh frowned. “Okay?” he said.

Bolin heaved a sigh. “Dude,” he said pityingly. “I am trying to _ask you out_ , okay?”

“Wha,” Iroh said, blankly, and then he stepped back a pace, shaking his head. “That’s – we’re both men, how does that even – what – _no_ , that makes no sense, I’m fairly sure that’s … what? _What_? No!”

He looked … disgusted, repulsed by the very idea of it. Well. That sucked.

Bolin laughed. Forcing laughs wasn’t hard for him, he did it a lot. “It was a joke, idiot!” he said, and Iroh blinked at him and then laughed as well, heartily.

“Good one,” he said, “for a moment I honestly thought—”

“Break’s over!” Bolin said, darting back into the fight, but Iroh was slow, clumsy with surprise; two exchanges in Bolin landed a hit, his left jab slamming straight into Iroh’s face. Iroh’s head snapped back, and he fell to the ground and sat there.

Bolin stepped back. Oops. Oh no oh no oh nooooo. “Are you okay?” he said. There was blood on his wraps, staining the white cloth red. Stupid, letting his anger get the better of him like that.

Iroh stared up at him, eyes wide, one hand clasped to his nose, which was bleeding at an alarming rate. “You hit me,” he said, his voice pure shock. Well, nasally shock.

“I’m so sorry,” Bolin said, taking a step back. “I didn’t actually mean to! Well, I did, but – I thought you’d dodge, oh man, I’m sorry.”

Iroh surprised him by laughing. “Is that you joking again?” he said. “This is _fantastic_ , it’s been months since I’ve had anything even approaching an equal bout.” He sprang back to his feet eagerly. “Can we go again, please, that was brilliant.”

“Uh,” Bolin said, eyeing him. “Only once you’ve stopped bleeding. Can I get you a cloth or something for that?”

“What?” Iroh said. “No, it’s fine.”

“You are _oozing blood_!” Bolin exclaimed, wringing his hands.

“Bolin,” Iroh said flatly. “I have fought off dozens of foes while heavily injured. Once I ran a mile with a broken leg. I think I can handle it.”

“Oozing blooood,” Bolin explained rationally, and then he blinked. “Wait wow, really? A whole _mile_?”

Iroh shifted. “Half a mile,” he said, a bit guilty. “I was exaggerating. Still.”

“Whoaaaah,” Bolin breathed. He paused. “Once I finished a pro-bending match with a dislocated shoulder,” he said, a bit irrelevantly. 

Iroh grinned. “Nice,” he said admiringly, and Bolin had to fight the blush. No, face, don’t blush, he is a massive jerk.

“You’re nowhere near as foolish as you generally appear,” Iroh continued, and Bolin had to stare at him incredulously, because wow, he didn’t even seem to realise how that sounded.

“Thank you,” Bolin said sarcastically.

Iroh smiled, all perfect white teeth. “You’re welcome,” he said. “I should’ve tried to get to know you better then, I’m sorry. At the time I was a bit …” And he paused significantly. “ _Tied up_.”

Bolin cracked up, clutching his stomach and wheezing. Iroh just stood there looking incredibly pleased with himself.

“I thought we were here to spar, not make jokes,” Bolin said once he’d recovered, and then he brightened. “Because I have lots of really good ones. In a joke-off? I would totally win.”

Iroh ducked his head, laughing. “I would never question your mastery in that particular art,” he said. “You’re not worrying over me any more; that’s all I was wanting.”

“Oh. Huh. Yeah, I’m not.” Bolin shrugged. “I guess you can take care of yourself?”

“As can you,” Iroh said warmly, and Bolin had to fight the blush again. Stupid handsome Iroh who was oddly nice for a jerk and made great jokes and didn’t like him.

Stupid Bolin, always wanting what he couldn’t have.

“Anywho, I should probably be getting back now, they’ll be worrying over me,” Bolin said brightly. They almost certainly wouldn’t be.

“Oh. Alright,” Iroh said, looking taken aback. “Ah – thank you for this. I enjoyed myself. Perhaps next time I’m in town we could do this again? And. And, ah. Perhaps. Have dinner, also? Or something of the kind.”

Bolin frowned. Yeah, great, _more_ opportunities for him to make a fool of himself, no thank you. “Sure, okay,” he said, “if there’s time. Whatever.”

Iroh looked displeased. “Bolin,” he snapped, and then he cleared his throat, looking exceedingly awkward. “I didn’t mean to – look. What I’m trying to … I mean. I. I’d like it if you, um. If we.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, I really ought to get back to Korra now,” Bolin said, waving him aside impatiently, and then he left in a hurry, wanting to get out of there. Stupid Iroh not liking him. 

Iroh ran to catch up with him, though, and Bolin spun around to glare at him. “ _What_ ,” he snapped.

Iroh squared his shoulders, and then he grabbed Bolin and kissed him. It wasn’t the best of kisses, considering their respective poses and the haste involved; their teeth clicked together and their noses smushed and it was all rather awkward.

Bolin pulled away. “Wha?” he said intelligently.

“I think I like you!” Iroh snapped, glaring ferociously. “I’d like it if I could see more of you next time I’m in town!”

Bolin bristled. “Okay!” he snapped back, not quite sure what he was irritated about.

“Alright!” Iroh said, looking murderously aggressive and also quite confused. 

“We can have _noodles_ ,” Bolin hissed.

“Sounds good!” Iroh yelled furiously.

“Fine!” Bolin yelled back, and Iroh nodded curtly and turned on his heel and exited, walking rather quickly. Bolin did the same.

Well that had been … strange. Maybe it was like how Iroh insulted people without realising it; he just wasn’t very good at that sort of thing. 

And … he’d asked Bolin out anyway, even knowing that.

Bolin found himself whistling contentedly on the way back, and couldn’t quite seem to stop. Stupid Iroh.


End file.
